Shotgun: Season Nine And a Half
by WiEGoP
Summary: After Season 8. Sarge gets Private Grif pregnant. Washington angsts. And Caboose searches for booty and orange juice.
1. Lopez's No Good Very Bad Day

Episode 1: The Magic Wand.

Since prose doesn't lend itself to subtitles I have supplied the following cheat sheet of Spanish to English words that will help you understand the ethnically diverse cast in the Red vs. Blue universe.

Dictionary:

Matar- to kill/murder

Salir- to leave.

Soy- I am

Voy- I'm going (to)

Toques- touch

Usted- You

Quedará - stay

Aqui- here.

Ramera- slut

Cogerme- Fuck me.

XXXXXXXXXX

Setting: Blood Gulch Outpost 1

Number of Days Since Sarge Left: [Entry Deleted]

Blood Gulch Outpost 1 was peaceful. And Lopez the Heavy was happy. From the top of Red Base the robot surveyed his tiny, boxed in paradise. He had deleted from his files the number of days it had been since [File Deleted] had left to die on his bogus mission, preferring to experience the blissful solitude as one eternal moment. If he'd had any feelings of loneliness early on he'd long ago erased the memory. In his base he had everything he could need in the way of motor oil, spare switches in several sizes, elbow grease and pirated tejano music.

Parked outside the base was the Blue Tank he had stolen. Though the beautiful machine was silent and lifeless, he had spent hours lovingly repairing it. A robot had to have a hobby or two. And Lopez's current hobbies included fixing Shelia's old body and standing atop Red Base for hours or even days at a time, savoring being alone. On the air there was only the chirping of birds. There were no bickering voices, no whines and demands, no megalomaniacal rants. No one blowing up his vehicles. No one asking him questions and then filling in 'his' answers with insane raving. Not one moron, breaking his peace and quiet.

The sound of moaning and retching wafted across the canyon.

Lopez entered his base, working to keep hold of his calm. Solo una idiota, he told himself, solo una. He could take it. All the remaining Blue did was stay in her base listening to music or sleeping. Even the raves and parties had died down now that she no longer had partygoers and had run out of alcohol. Yes, her disgusting moans, sobs, and sick sounds would echo through the whole canyon. With increasing frequency. It _was_ getting irritating. Lopez knew he could kill her at any time, technically he was _supposed_ to, but Lopez had a niggling concern that killing the last Blue here would end the excuse [File Deleted] had for leaving him behind. And even with the distressing noises, this was the best he'd had it his entire existence. He was almost completely alone. Almost completely unbothered. And he even had legs.

Loud, across the canyon the sound of a toilet flushing, then a whining sob, as the retching started anew.

Picking up his battle rifle, Lopez walked outside to where four cardboard cutouts were lined against the base's wall. Four cardboard cutouts of soldiers in Spartan armor, one was red, one was maroon, and one might have been red before the sun bleached it a lighter shade. Last in the lineup was the tattered remnant of a dark yellow soldier, now so battered, burnt, and blasted that it was little more than a charred orange outline on the base's wall. Lopez raised his rifle and took aim, shooting the Maroon and Pink one through clean holes in the visors already pierced by practice. The orange one Lopez blasted through the blackened crater between the cutout's legs where a codpiece once had been. Finally he lined up on the red one, aiming over the chest plate, right for the cutout's heart and stared through the sights. There were no bullet holes in the cutout of the red soldier. Yet. Lopez stared down the flat image of Red Sergeant, finger ever so gradually tightening on the trigger.

"Hey! Asshole!" The nasal whine cut into Lopez's audio receptors like daggers. "You mind! Some of us are trying not…not…to—" The Blue's shout died out into a burbling blarg that Lopez was pretty sure wasn't alien.

"Dios mio." Lopez lowered his battle rifle and stalked off to the direction of the caves, and their secret passage to the caverns beneath the canyon where Lopez kept another of his hobbies, the Blue Team corpses. Which were, by now, pocked with hundreds of rifle bullets.

Later, after peace had returned to his idyllic canyon, Lopez returned to what was probably his favorite pastime. Serenading his tank. Standing before the inert body where Shelia once resided, Lopez practiced the songs he hoped to one day be able to sing to the tutorial program for the M808V Main Battle Tank in person. The tunes from his radio provided the backup music, "Dije que no llamaría, pero perdí todo el control y te necesito ahora…" At the height of his monotone cry of longing a loud wet belch echoed from the base. _His_ base. Lopez turned and, raising his battle rifle, stalked slowly into Red Base.

He found the Blue by following a trail of neon yellow armor, first a helmet, then gloves, and gauntlets. He finally found Grif's sister kneeling half undressed over the Red Base toilet, making noises that, one by one, Lopez instantly erased from his memory. He cocked the rifle and considered killing the Blue and lying about it later. Sister heard the noise and turned to glare at Lopez, resting her face on the edge of the toilet seat.

"What the hell is _your_ problem?" She shrieked. "Can't you see I'm _busy?_" She resumed puking in the toilet.

"No hay cervesa aquí, ramera. Su hermano bebió todo."

"I'm not here for beer dumbass. The stupid toilet at my base is broken." She flushed the toilet and then stared into it.

Lopez took aim at her right as her body tensed in another spasm. After she had finished, he barked at her. "Salir, inmediatamente, o voy a matarle."

"Okay, okay, just give me a minute, geeze." She looked around the floor, searching. "Damn. Hey you! Gay guy? Do you see a white stick anywhere?"

"No soy gay." Lopez raised the gun. "Ahora van."

"I am not going without that stick. They come in twelve packs and that was my last one." Sister was crawling around on all fours, looking in all the nooks around the toilet. "And you are _totally_ gay."

"No Soy" Lopez scanned the floor, deciding that finding the stick and getting her out of his base was probably better than shooting her and killing his excuse for staying in Blood Gulch.

"Pish. Naw. I can always tell when a guy is gay. I'm like telesexual."

"¿Cómo?" Lopez finally found what looked like a plastic wand on the tiles under the sink. He crouched down and picked it up gingerly.

"You found it!" Sister grabbed the wand from Lopez's hand, and stared at it. Then she shook it. "Damn it! Hey you ever hear of like…I don't know, Jagerbulls messing with your pee? Gay dude?"

"No soy gay. Soy un robot."

Sister looked up him, shocked, "You're a robot? Wicked! I've never fucked a robot before!"

Lopez backed away, panicked. "No me toques, ramera!"

"See? _Totally_ gay." She looked back down at the white stick and sighed. "Um… you don't have like…fifty bucks I can borrow?"

"¿Por qué?" Lopez stepped back again and heard a crunch beneath his foot. He looked down to see that he had stepped on a small cardboard box. He bent down to pick it up, and read the packaging.

"Damn it, damn it, damn it." Sister was muttering to herself. She threw the stick down on the floor, glaring at it, turning first red, then green. She ducked over to the toilet again.

Lopez bent down and picked up the white stick; and compared it to the packaging.

"Es positve." He said. "¿Usted está embarazada?"

Sister sniffed into the toilet, eyes watering. "Embarrassed? Naw. If you don't have the money I can get it some other way. You have a webcam I can borrow?"

Staring at the pregnancy test, it took a moment for what the Blue had said to register. "¿Espera… que?" Then Lopez decided he didn't want to know. He held up the test. "¿Que es el padre?"

"The father?" her face squinted up quizzically, "Nobody's ever asked me _that_ before. It's always more like, 'how long have you been off the pill?' or 'which veins can we still use?'" Her eyes darted to the Red, suspiciously. "Wait….it's not _you_ is it?"

Lopez stared at her.

"Ohh, yeah…gay." She nodded to herself.

"Robot." Lopez protested.

She walked past Lopez to start washing in the sink. "Well hombre, if you don't have a webcam to loan me, gotta get back to my base. See if I can remember where I stashed my customer card for the clinic." She smiled, "One more punch and my next one's free!"

Lopez grabbed her arm as she tried to pass him out the bathroom door.

"Hey!" she shouted, "That's sexual harassment!" then she smiled and slid closer, "Yeah, that's okay, I can get kinky.'

"¿El padre?" Lopez said, forcefully.

"You _seriously_ expect me to remember?"

"No ha habido nadie aquí. Sólo usted, y yo, y…" Lopez dropped her arm and stared at her.

Suddenly his radio cracked to life, and a familiar, much hated and much loved voice came crackling through his helmet's speaker.

"_Come in Lopez. Senor Lopez come in this is Sarg—"_

"Hola. Esta es Barranco de la Sangre. Discurso de Lopez." The robot responded automatically, then instantly hated himself for doing so.

"Hey… I know that guy!" Sister exclaimed. "It's the old sergeant dude!" Lopez fought an overwhelming urge to turn off his logic sensors and permanently delete his simulated imagination. He muted his mike to talk to Sister.

"¿El es el padre?" Lopez asked it, but he already knew. His radio droned on.

"_Lopez! It's Sarge! Que paso? Whaddre you doin'?"_

Sister shrugged, "Yeah, maybe. I guess. I'm not a freakin' scientist or something."

"_Lopez_?" Sarge asked over the radio.

Sister moved to leave the bathroom again. "Look, you're on the phone, and I got an important appointment to make, so I'll just be-"

Lopez grabbed her by the arm again, and turned his radio back on. "Uh, Me disculpo, no puedo utilizar el teléfono. Deja por favor un mensaje..." Sister tugged on his vise grip.

"Really." She whined. "Not in the mood."

He muted his radio again. "Usted se quedará." He commanded.

"_Aheheheheh Lopez ya old kidder. Cut it out."_ Lopez was panicking, trying to hold two morons at bay at once.

"...le llamaré des tras."

"Come on, let go. What the hell?" Sister said, her face a mask of confusion.

"_Ha Ha, seriously, program disable lying mode. Voice verification: bravo niner."_

Lopez sighed. "Commando acceptado. ¿Qué usted tiene?"

"Can he really do that?" Sister was wide eyed. "Turn off your lying thing?"

Lopez muted the mike. "No."

"_I need you at the new base on the double."_

"¿Por qué?

"_We got power, I need your help building something awesome. Ya busy?"_

"No. Acabo de matar a esa muchacha encima a la Base Azul."

"No you didn't!" Sister protested, eyes wide. Lopez squeezed her arm in warning,

"Ganamos a propósito."

"_Great!"_

Clicking off his radio. Lopez stared down at Sister. She looked a little frightened now. "What _are_ you gonna do with me?" She asked, chewing on her lip.

"Usted se quedará. Voy a de radio pronto."

"I _can't_ stay! At twelve weeks the price goes up another fifty bu-"

"No. Usted se quedará aquí. No cervesa. No narcotico. O os matarán." Lopez commanded.

"Kill me? Okay okay Geeze!" Sister slumped in his grip. "I bet I'd lost the punchcard anyway."

Lopez unmuted his mike. "OK. Estoy viniendo."

"_Great, we'll see you soon!"_ The radio transmission ended.

Lopez pulled Sister's arm, his words as hard and unyielding as his grip. "Quedate aquí. Si usted deja, voy cazar a los confines de la tierra, y os matarán." Lopez dropped Sister's arm finally. "Reciemendo que come una comida saludable."

Sister sulked. "'The ends of the earth,' feh, ya don't gotta get so dramatic. And a good dinner? Whadda you care? Why are you doing this?"

Lopez stalked to the bathroom door. But he stopped at the threshold.

"Para mi padre." He muttered, voice heavy with a self-hating resignation. "Cogerme." Then he was gone.


	2. Lost in Translation

Former Freelancer Agent Washington sighed, looking down at his new…okay slightly used…cobalt blue chestplate. "Listen guys," he started haltingly, embarrassed. "I'm not really good at this. I mean, I'm not good at this anymore. There _was_ a time, before…everything, when this would have come a lot easier."

He fiddled with the controls. "I don't know why you all are doing this for me after I betrayed you to work with the Meta, after what I did to Church and Tex." He paused. "And Doc… And that pink guy… And the Mexican. I guess what I'm trying to say is…is…" He sighed. "You got me out of prison, and I swear, I'm gonna find a way to make this up to you all somehow. You guys do need to understand, I'm not really used to trusting people anymore either. So this might be hard at first. I'll try. It's just been a long time since I was on a team with where I wasn't constantly looking over my shoulder. Wondering when they're gonna snap. Wondering when they're gonna shoot me in the back …since I was on a team with people that I didn't hate…"

There was a hammering on the canopy glass, and Washington looked up from the hornet's controls to see Private Tucker's cyan fist knocking on the window of the hornet they'd stolen. Faintly he could hear a windblown voice shouting. "Duuude….Did….you….say…something….about…backs?" There was a bang from the other side of the Hornet he turned to see Private Caboose peering into the cockpit, the blank visor of his mark V helmet radiating intensity, his head nodding up and down like he was saying something. When the Freelancer didn't respond he placed both hands on the glass of the cockpit and began gesturing and tracing pictures, helmet still bobbing. Washington mumbled under his breath, finishing his previous thought, "…so why start now?"

Wash could barely make out Tucker's shouting. "Caboose! You dumb moron! Hold on to the goddamn plane!" Caboose's gesturing was turning into wheeling as he attempted to keep his balance on the runner of the Hornet and worked at getting his point across.

Agent Washington yelled back, his voice echoing loud in the cockpit, "He can't hear you! Tucker! Use the radio!"

The very top of a greenish blue, Mark VI helmet appeared on the edge of the canopy. "What?"

"I said use the radio!"

"The radial?"

Sighing Agent Wash turned on his helmet radio, "I said use the radio."

"What!" Tucker shouted, full force, right into the speaker at Washington's ear.

"Ah! Dammit! Private Tucker! I said Caboose can't hear you, use your radio."

"Oh…well… why weren't you?"

"Hey…guys…." Caboose's voice came over their speakers.

"Yeah Caboose?" Washington said, not listening. "And Tucker, what do you mean why wasn't I using—"

"Hey…guys..." Caboose said again. "I think I know what Tucker—"

"Not now Caboose!" Tucker said. "Man, I could see your head bobbing in there…you forgot to turn your radio on too."

There was a long silence from Washington. "No I didn't."

"Bullshit dude, I could kinda hear you…"

"I am falling." Caboose said through their radios. "Definitely falling."

"Not now Caboose!" Washington snapped. "Wait…Caboose did you say you were…" He looked to his left out the canopy…there was no Mark V helmet peering in at him.

Tucker looked down to see a rapidly shrinking blue speck, freefalling to the snowy wasteland below.

"Wheeeee" Caboose waved at the Hornet.

"Hey, uh, new guy?" Tucker peered over the canopy.

Washington pulled the Hornet to a stop, hovering in the sky. "We just lost Caboose…didn't we?"

"Naw…. He's right below us, I can still see-" There was a loud thunk they could both hear without their mikes. "No wait. Just slid down a hill. Yep. Definitely lost."

"Ow." Caboose said into the speakers by Tucker and Washington's ears.

"I'll set us down." Washington sighed.

"Ohh man!" Tucker whined, "No way we're beating the Reds back to base now."

As Private First Class Dick Simmons clawed his way from the flaming wreckage of the Hornet they'd stolen, his first thought was a stabbing fear that his teammates hadn't survived. His second thought, which rose up to overwhelm the first, was a gnawing desire that maybe, just maybe, both of them had died. Coughing on his knees he glanced around him, but he saw no other soldiers, just trees, and dirt, and grass and rocks.

"Dammit Grif!" A gravel voice barked out from the other side of the wreck, "Now we'll never beat the Blues back to base!" Simmons sighed and circled around the crashed plane, where Sarge was standing yelling. "You cost us an important strategic advantage!"

"Sarge! I'm glad you made it out! Are you okay?" Simmons attentively looked his sergeant up and down.

"Fine Simmons, now help me shout at Grif."

"Yes sir! Good job crashing our plane Grif! You fall asleep at the controls you lazy worthless…"Simmons trailed off, looking around.

"That's right, dirtbag! You think stealing these planes is easy? I mean…I guess we got this one no pro-"

"Sarge…where is Grif?"

"Where do you think Private? Where he belongs. Going down with his ship…in fiery oblivion."

"You mean he's still inside?" As Simmons stared, there was a blast from within the plane and white hot flames engulfed the entire Hornet.

"Yep. Now step it up with the insults. Before his ears melt! I want the last thing he hears to be the sound of someone telling him what a worthless turd he is."

"Oh God, Grif!" Simmons yelped.

"Ohhh…man." Grif moaned, but his voice wasn't coming from the blaze. It was coming from near some trees up the hill behind them.

"Grif!" Simmons ran up the hill to where an orange soldier was lying on the ground. Sarge slowly followed, slumped in defeat.

"Ohhh…what happened?" Grif groaned, face down in the grass.

"What happened?" Simmons snapped. "You crashed the helicopter you idiot!"

"Grif." Sarge grumbled "Lying around when you should be dying. Again."

Grif managed to stagger to his feet. "It's not my fault. The engine just quit on me."

"Why would it do that?" Simmons stared over at the blaze.

"How the fuck should I know?"

Simmons was incredulous. "You were the one flying the Hornet!"

"Yeah, well, I'm not exactly flying certified." Grif retorted.

"Well you're certainly crashing certified."

"Gimmie a break, It was my first time trying one of those."

"You flew a spaceship from that Freelancer Storage place to Sidewinder." Simmons spoke slowly, in a sort of emphatic disbelief.

"No, I _crashed_ a spaceship on Sidewinder…you seriously need to learn to be realistic with your expectations…"

"Can it you two." Sarge ordered, 'We can discuss Grif's miserable failure and inevitable demise later. And we will! Simmons! Put it in my day planner!

"Yes Sir!"

The Red Leader gripped his shotgun, all business. "The heliwhatsit has had it. So now we need to figure out where our base is at."

"First sir, shouldn't we figure out where _we_ are?" Simmons asked.

"What does it matter where _we_ are? Look around you Simmons, you see any Blues? Any Bases? No? So we don't need to be here! This place might as well not exist. Then there's nothing to do here. No base, no place."

Grif sighed contentedly. "You know. I'm really starting to like it here."

Simmons was looking around their current surroundings. "Hey, this place kinda looks familiar…I know I've seen those concrete bunker things before. Wait a minute. Look at that wall. The welded scorch mark."

"So?" Grif shrugged.

"Don't you guys see? That's the way into Valhalla. It's just on the other side of this wall." Simmons walked closer to the dark black mark, examining.

"Through a wall?" Sarge asked.

"Remember that's how we got out of Valhalla last time? When the Meta was chasing us. There was a hole there! How can you guys not remember, you were the ones who came that way!"

"Ohhh right. Fun times." Grif nodded, then yawned.

"And that floating ball thing..."

"That guy was such a dick." Grif said.

"Yeah. But he closed up the wall again with that laser eye so the Meta and Washington couldn't follow us through.

"So all we have to do is have Grif crash the something through the wall again." Sarge said.

"And since that's something he's proven so good at today…" Simmons grumbled.

"Shut up." Grif snapped.

"Simmons!" Sarge commanded. "Help me find something for Grif to crash into that wall at high velocity. Preferably something without airbags. Or seatbelts. Would be neat to find one with huge spikes in the dash, or a bomb in the front bumper. But we shouldn't hope for too much."

X X X

"Caboose! Caboose where are you?" Tucker shouted as he and Agent Washington trudged through the snowy forest.

"I don't know Tucker." Washington said, looking around. "He fell pretty far. Do you really think he survived?"

"If it were anyone else, I would say no. But this is Caboose we're talking about. And we're not that lucky."

Washington slowed to a stop so he could scan the area again. "Well he's not answering his radio, and I don't have anything on my motion tracker…"

"Man, he would be so much easier to find if Church were here."

"What makes you say…"

Suddenly their radios crackled to life. _"Church? Where is Church?"_ A disoriented voice moaned.

"That's why." Tucker explained.

"Caboose! Where are you?" Washington called as he started sprinting through the forest.

The Caboose sounded excited but dazed. "_Church! I am here Church!_"

"I'm closing in on your signal Caboose…keep talking."

"_Quiet Agent Washington….Church is calling me."_

Washington rounded a huge boulder and found the Blue sprawled out face down in the snow. He sighed. "Church isn't talking _to_ you, Caboose." He explained "We were just talking _about_ him." He knelt down beside the soldier and started examining him.

"Oh…" Caboose paused. "'About' means that he is not here….doesn't it?" Tucker caught up, and crouched down next to Washington.

"Yes, Caboose." The Freelancer turned to Tucker. "Well he's alive, but he's pretty out of it."

Tucker hesitated. "You know it's Caboose, right?"

"I mean, I think he probably has a severe concussion."

"What?" Tucker stood up "How is that even possible?"

"He fell from a plane."

"Yeah, but to get a concussion don't you have to -you know- have a _brain_ first?"

Washington surveyed his fallen comrade. "I think we might have to carry him back to the Hornet."

"Aww man…no way I'm carrying him." Tucker protested.

"Why?"

"One, Caboose is fucking dense."

"Yes, I _know_." Washington sighed.

"No, I mean he's really heavy. I try and lift him and I'm gonna throw out my back or something, and I _need_ all my lifting power." Agent Washington stared Tucker down. "You know, for picking up chicks."

"Right. Was there a second reason?"

"Yeah. Two dudes carrying another dude?" Tucker backed away from the pair. "Totally gay."

"Fine. You stay here with Caboose. I'll go get the Hornet."

"Wait…" Caboose moaned. "Don't leave me Mr. About-Church…Don't leave me here with Tucker…"

Washington sighed to himself as he made his way back to the VTOL. Any small hopeful feeling he'd been having at the prospect of his new future and clean slate was quickly disappearing. As he climbed into the cockpit his radio crackled to life again. But hissing and popping. Like the signal was faint.

"_Oye, hijo de puta, el __hombre p__ú__rpura__ no tajo mis rollos de pizza y a ese bastardo me sigue pateando!_" The voice was female, sounded pissed, and yet somehow he thought he recognized it. "_Oye! Robot Gay! __¿__D__ó__nde diablos est__á__s?_"

"Uh…hello…I mean Hola. ¿Quienes es?" Washington scraped around in his mind digging up some ancient Spanish lessons as he lifted off in the Hornet and cruised low over the treeline.

"_Hijo de perra! Estoy alucinando __aqu__í__! Wait? Who is this? You're not…is this Doc?_"

"Uhhh no. Doc isn't here? Who is this?" There was a niggling pang of guilt as Agent Washington realized that it hadn't occurred to him to give Doc a ride out of Sidewinder. The medic was annoying, and kind of a sissy, but he _had_ saved Washington's life when he'd thrown him the tow hook from the Warthog. Washington wondered where he'd ended up after the UNSC had shown up.

"_Who is this?"_

"This is Agen—A guy. A guy who is _not_ a wanted fugitive of the UNSC. Just a guy. How did you get this signal?" Washington sighted Tucker kneeling next to Caboose and set the Hornet down. He kept trying to place where he'd heard the grating female voice before as he climbed out of the cockpit.

"_I don't know. It was in my helmet. The other asshole's radio isn't working. I ran out of sunscreen and pizza rolls two days ago, man. And the only thing left to drink is that shitty Fresca stuff. Whatever._"

Tucker cocked his head. "Dude, who's that on your radio?"

"Hold on." Agent Washington waved him off.

"_Don't tell me to hold on! My skin is itching, my feet hurt, and this bastard won't stop kicking me in the back._"

Washington's brain stumbled over the last part of the message. "Wait…what?"

Tucker was hovering around Washington, like a dog on a scent. "Is that a chick?"

"_I wanna talk to that gay robot!_" The voice demanded.

"Church isn't here… abouts…" Caboose moaned from where he lay.

"You know girls?" Tucker exclaimed. "And they call you on your radio? New guy, you just got so much cooler.

"_Okay…then Doc. Get Doc and tell him that I can't put my boots on and I haven't taken a dump in a week!"_

"Doc?" Tucker was dismissive. "Last time I saw him was right after we schooled the Meta. Wonder if the Reds gave him a ride?" He paused, then. "Wait… Sister?"

"_Hey…is that Tucker?_"

"You have a sister?" Washington asked, but Tucker was too excited to listen.

"Hey it _is_ Sister! She was on our team for a while…"

"She wasn't a mean girl…" Caboose mumbled into the snow. "But she wasn't a regular girl either, Church said so."

"_Tucker! What's up? You still have that kickass sword, and that dog kid_?"

"What?" Washington's was ignored.

"I don't know, are you still F. I. N. E. ?" Tucker crooned near Agent Washington's helmet forcing him to back away slowly.

"_Uhh…If you any what?_"

There was a sinking feeling in Washington's gut. "Wait…Now I remember where that…You're that yellow Blue girl from Blood Gulch."

"Yeah, we heard you died." Tucker added.

"_Really? That's cool. Listen if you don't know where that Spanish robot guy is..._"

"Oh…him…" Washington felt another pang of guilt.

"_And you don't know where that Doc guy is. Then you think you guys can come pick me up? I'm lonely and hungry lying around on this hot beach all alone. It was fun for a while. But there's no one else on the island. And, I think my bikini shrunk or something…because I keep popping out of it._"

"Oh man." Tucker exclaimed.

"_Yeah. So I just stopped wearing it. But now that I'm out of sunscreen I've had to start covering myself with whatever I can find in the fridge._"

"Oh man…" Tucker was practically salivating.

"That happens to me, a lot." Caboose mentioned.

"_Yeah. Tell me about it. I mean the cool whip worked pretty well. But now all I have left is this chocolate syrup."_

"We'll be right over!" Tucker shouted at Washington's helmet.

"_Great! Can't wait to see you! Guess I better go find my bra…_"

"Not necessary!" Tucker replied enthusiastically.

"_Okay? But if you guys could…I don't know…bring like some Twinkies, or a watermelon. That would be great!_" Agent Washington's radio clicked off. He was facing Tucker, menacingly silent.

"What?" Tucker negotiated. "She's Blue, we're Blue. We get her and we'll have an advantage over the Reds."

"Cause she sounds so tough." Washington commented, flatly.

"Come on," Tucker wheedled. "We gotta rescue the damsel in distress. Especially the extremely hot damsel, naked on a beach, covered in chocolate."

"Tucker," The disgust dripped from Washington's words. "She's your sister. I'm pretty sure that's illegal, and wrong in…"

"Not _my_ sister. Sis-ter. It's like…her name or something."

"But I've met her. She's crazy. And stupid."

Tucker was unfazed. "And I'm desperate."

"Fine." Washington relented. "Help me lash Caboose to the skids on this thing, and we'll go pick up your raging moron."

"You mean hot date."

"Whatever…"


	3. Booty Call

In the shady grove, birds were chirping, leaves were rustling, the motor to a Mongoose was roaring, and Grif was screaming. The speeding vehicle cleared the top of the trapezoidal concrete bunkers and slammed into the wall between the Red Team's home and the isolated, shady hillock. Both motorcycle and driver slid down the wall, creaking and groaning.

"Grif! How'd it go this time?" Sarge called out from where he and Simmons were standing, watching by the side of the bunkers.

"No better than last time…" Grif crawled away from the wrecked Mongoose and the still completely solid wall.

Simmons inspected their makeshift ramp, doing mental calculations. "It's no use Sarge, without more mass or higher velocity, we aren't building up enough inertia to break through the wall. "

"Hmpf. More mass. Never thought I'd want Grif to be fatter. You hear that Grif? You fail at mass!"

Grif gave up his struggled crawl and collapsed. "I hate math. And I hate you."

"Grrrr…I guess I better get to work fixing the motorcycle. Again. Which means I need to find more spare parts. Again." He wandered off in the direction of the trees. "Simmons, you get the dead weight dragged back up the hill."

Simmons sighed and walked to where his orange companion was collapsed next to the wall. He was about to bend over to grab Grif's arm when he heard a faint voice calling from the other side of the wall.

"Owwwwwwwwwie..."

"Simmons—" Grif groaned as he rolled onto his back and tried to sit up.

"Quiet Grif, you hear that?"

"Yeah, it's the sound of my bones. Because they're broken."

"No, not _your _bitching. I know what _that _sounds like all too well. Listen."

Again, soft and mournfully. "Owwwwwwwchies..."

"What do you think it is?" Grif whispered.

"Ghosts?" Simmons gulped.

The was a low thrumming sound from the grove. A fuchsia alien vehicle crested the hill with Sarge at the controls. "Good news men!" He shouted "Guess what I found in a cave on the other side of the field?"

X X X

Washington felt a sinking feeling in his gut as their destination came into view. From the air the island looked barren, rocky... the only signs of life being a faint green sheen of stubborn moss and huge twisted cords of driftwood. Dominating the sparse landscape was a thumb of dark brown smooth rock jutting up like a tombstone, the tower of an ancient alien fortress. It seemed like abandoned was its default setting, but Washington knew from experience that it hadn't always been so.

Washington landed the airship on the beach and hopped from the Hornet's cockpit. "_These _are the coordinates?" he mumbled, wondering why fate loved dragging him in circles.

"Was there an X on the map?" Craning his head to see, Caboose knocked his helmet against the runner of the Hornet where he'd been securely lashed with ropes.

Tucker sauntered over to Washington's side, both ignoring Caboose. "What are you askin' me for? I'm not fuckin' google earth."

"I wasn't asking you." Washington snapped.

"So who were you asking, Caboose?"

"Someone please untie me." Caboose sounded groggy, but it was debatable whether that was from the concussion, or his normal brain lag. "Before the pirates come."

Tucker didn't even turn to face Caboose. "For the last time, this isn't a treasure hunt!"

"But you said we were going to an island for the booty."

"Not that kind of…fuck it." Tucker refocused his attention on Washington. "What…so you were talking to yourself?"

"Maybe." The waves lapped on the shore four or five times in the awkward silence.

"You wanna talk about it?'

"No. Look, I've just been here before, back when I was first hunting the Meta."

Tucker scanned the island, "We're there hot chicks here then? Why didn't you say anything?" He turned back to Washington, "And weren't you working _with_ that huge nasty motherfucker?"

"No, this was before that. More than a year ago." Washington started walking down the beach, checking his motion trackers, every sensor in his suit scanning for life. Tucker followed him.

"Dude, I fuckin hate this 'I-was-stuck-in-the-desert-when-shit-was-going-dow n' crap. I am so confused."

"When I was here the island was abandoned. Except for corpses." Washington peeked around a boulder, but all he saw was more washed up driftwood. "And Agent Wyoming. I think he was using the fortress for a base."

"That asshole?" Tucker swung his sword emphatically, "I fuckin' hate that guy!"

"Finally, something to agree on." Washington stopped to crouch and check a partially washed away bootprint. It appeared to be like Spartan armor, but in a small size.

"So what _were_ you here for?" Tucker strolled right by, kicking mud over the footprint.

Washington stood, glaring death rays through his visor. "Nothing." He turned to face the ocean, reigning in his rage. "Let's just find your Blue sister and get out of here."

"I already told you man. Not my sister."

Washington nodded to the ancient alien structure inland. "Lets try the fortress first."

As the two Blues went to investigate the buildings, a faint and blearly voice called after them.

"Helloooo?" Caboose asked from the runner of the Hornet. "Still tied up here." The waves lapped around the bottom of the runner. "And thirsty..." His only reply were the waves below and gulls above. "Hello? Can I get a glass of water? Or a new tongue, with more...moistiness?" A roar from the ocean and a wave washed over the top of his helmet. "Ahhhh...Not thirsty anymore." He sighed contentedly. Until another wave washed over him, higher and stronger. "All done, tongue moist, and salted." The next breaker submerged the soldier "Really. Not thirsty." he sputtered. The next wave's undertow started pulling the hornet off the beach. "Bad water!" Caboose burbled, "You get down. Stop stealing my airplanes! "

As the water was closing over his visor, and Caboose, sputtering and coughing, was switching from berating the waves to praying to Church to save him, he saw yellow figure leaning over him. "Heya there."

Up at the fortress Tucker and Washington were scoping things out, but Tucker wasn't finding what he was looking for, and all Washington was finding was a new level of disgust and disdain for his new teammate.

Tucker stood at the prow of the fortress wall, surveying the entire island because it involved less walking than checking out the alien building's basement. "Well I don't see any hot chicks. Or any chicks at all." He turned to see Washington walking up from the flat platform that stretched beneath and behind the tower. "Or any corpses even."

Washington joined him on the bow like edge, "Yeah, the fort looks pretty abandoned. But these are the coordinates that your sister—"

"For the last time. Not. My. Sister."

Even Tucker could hear Washington clenching his teeth while he replied. "Okay, 'Sister', provided…lets sweep the—

Tucker glanced in the direction of the beach. "Hey, you think we shoulda untied Caboose from the Hornet?"

"Why, seems safer…"

"Because I think the water is closer than it used to be."

"Oh Fuck! The tide!" Washington leapt from the bow, sprinting to the beach. Tucker watched him run for their landing point, interested, but not enough to down jump twenty feet. He turned to look for a different way off the Fort.

By the time Washington reached the beach only the top of the Hornet's rotors were visible above water. His heart sank as he splashed frantically into the waves. "Caboose! Caboose! Fuck." The undertow of the next wave pulled the airship closer to the drop off.

He was about to dive underwater after the sinking plane when he heard sharp female voice calling from back on the beach. "Hey, be careful in the water! It can get pretty cold. You know... _Shrinkage_."

"What, who sai—" He whirled around. The voices were coming from the direction of a blackish metallic...thing... that he could just barely see peeking over an outcropping of rocks.

"Agent! We're up here." This voice was Caboose's "We found a shade plane!"

"A what?" Agent waded back up onto the beach. When he'd gotten around the boulders on the beach he could see a couple figures, one blue one yellow, lounging inside the opened hold of a crashed Albatross drop ship. He slogged over, dripping water and fully intending to kill Caboose.

"Caboose, how did you…?" He trailed off staring at the figure laid out next to Caboose. She was encased head to toe in yellow armor. Well, almost head to toe.

She looked at Caboose, then nodded in the direction of Washington. "Oh hey, is this that new guy you were telling me about?"

Tucker radioed in, "_Hey! You guys find Sister? I'll be right over!"_

"Yes. This is Agent Washington. He is my new friend."

Sister scrutinized Washington suspiciously. "He sounds kinda familiar. Have we met?" She turned back to Caboose. "Hey, didn't you say his name was Church?"

"That is just his Alien name." Caboose explained.

"Caboose, it's _alias_." Tucker sauntered down the hill, sword out, ready for action.

"Oh, hey Tucker." Sister chirped.

"Awww... you're wearing your armor. Why are you-" he froze as Sister stood up with some effort and stretched, staring at the way the black under suit was pulled tight and lifted up around the hard, tanned, round baby belly that peeked out between the bottom of her chest plate and the top of her belt. "Awww… What the fuck?"

"What?" Sister turned to look behind herself.

"Um, Sis— Private…Private—look what is your name, miss?" Washington asked.

"Grif." Sister answered.

"Wait. Like that orange one? On Red Team?"

Sister nodded, then paused. "What's orange?"

"Yeah." Tucker said, "She's Grif's sister. Dude. As in sister. Didn't we explain that to you?"

"No!" Washington growled, "All you explained was that she wasn't _your_ sister." He turned to Sister. "Well, listen Private Grif…"

"Where is Grif?!" Caboose whirled around, looking behind him.

Washington tried to ignore him. "Look, Private..."

"What's private?" Caboose bumped into Washington leaning in to whisper. "Is this a _secret_ meeting?"

"Caboose." Washington spoke slowly, with a pause between each thought. "I know you are still a little concussed. But I am talking to Grif's sister. Private Grif. Not you. Do you understand?"

The blue soldier nodded in the affirmative. "Yes. You are Abbot Church. You are talking to Church's fat moon brother, Sister. And Tucker is sobbing in his helmet. About pirates."

Tucker sniffled. "Not…fuckin'…fair….and I _wasn't_ even in town that weekend. Fuck."

Inside his helmet Washington tried to unclench his jaw. "Look, Sister and Tucker and I need to have a little chat. One that I am almost certain you would not understand. So why don't you…" His eyes trailed up the beach. "Look for the pirate treasure."

"Okay!" Caboose agreed enthusiastically. As he jogged down the beach, he called back to them. "I'll get to it first! Then Tucker will not get any booty on this island!"

"Stop rubbing it in, asshole!"

With Caboose a safe distance away, Washington felt it was safe to continue his questioning. "Okay. Private Grif, we need to talk."

"Yeah? About what?"

"About what?" Washington was dumbfounded. "You're pregnant."

"Yeah, so?"

"So?" He snapped, exasperated, "This isn't something that happens every day!"

"What're you talking about?" Confused, Sister turned from one soldier to the other. "This has been happening to me every day for like…I don't know…eight months. That's like my longest streak ever."

"Wait…what?" Washington struggled to process Sister's explanation.

"Yeah, I mean, before was usually only a couple weeks a couple times a year."

"What…I don't….I don't even." Washington turned to Tucker. "I'm handing this over to you now. I'm guessing you have more experience."

"Hell yeah." Tucker stepped up to the plate. "Okay tramp, who's the daddy? Cause it sure as hell isn't me." He paused. "Unless… you don't have like…a toddler hiding in that base somewhere?"

"Tucker. On subject." Washington growled.

"Right. But this one here, definitely not mine! So spill it slut, who knocked you up?"

"Well, at first I didn't really know," Sister explained. "'Cuz I mean…who can remember a thing like who you've slept with in the last two months?"

Tucker nodded. "Tell me about it."

"What. The. Hell." Washington took a step away from the pair.

Sister continued. "But then that Mexican guy, he seemed to know when he found out. So he called Doc."

"Wait, Doc got you pregnant?" Tucker asked, "That fuckin' pedophile."

"Shut up Tucker!" Washington snapped, "Also, she's in the Army, so she has to be at least-"

Sister shook her head. "Naw, wasn't him, Lopez just wanted him to run some tests. Something about needing 'irrefutable proof'. Also, you know, wanted to make sure I hadn't been contagious in the last year and check for Feudal Asshole Syndrome.''

Washington paused. "Do you mean Fetal Alcohol Syndrome?"

"Whatever. Anyway they brought me here, said stuff about it being their old base. And Doc ran a bunch of tests. And he said that..."

Down the beach, Caboose was completely absorbed in his treasure hunt. He walked a few steps, then crouched, then walked, then crouched, searching every tide pool and rocky nook.

"Looking for X'es, X'es,….X'es…" He reminded himself, "or plus signs. Hmm….what about little T's?"

Caboose stood and looked back when Washington shouted, loud enough for Caboose to hear several hundred yards down the beach.

"What. The. Hell."

"Oh man!" Tucker exclaimed, "Oh man! You gotta let me be the one to call them."

X X X

Sarge liked to think of himself as stubborn; someone who wouldn't give up easily, even in the face of multiple failures, even if most of those failures were Grif. But the wall separating his team from Valhalla was proving more stubborn, and had finally worn through even Sarge's tolerance for failure. Sarge looked over the twisted heap of vehicular remains, and sighed. "Well I give up." He turned to Simmons, who was standing at his right. "Watching Grif crash into the wall with the Motorcycle…"

"And then the Alien Motorcycle." Simmons reminded.

"Yeah, and that too! Was a lot of fun. But now I'm out of parts to fix the vehicles."

Simmons looked over the twisted heap that remained of Grif, and sighed. "That might be for the best. I think Grif was running out of bones."

"Ohhh God," Grif moaned, curling into the dirt "Why?"

Sarge turned to look again at the top of the hillock. "So I guess we're going to have to go to plan B."

Simmons hesitated. "I would ask if Plan B was walking, but I'm guessing—"

"Which is simply to load Grif down with our remaining grenades and start flinging him at the wall at a high velocity." Sarge gripped his shotgun in determination. "I'm drawing up plans for the revised GrifCannon. I'm calling it the Trebu-shoot-Grif; also known as the Turd Flinger."

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

"I hate you all…." Grif sobbed.

Before Sarge insult Grif, his radio crackled to life. Hissing through interference. "_Red Team, come in Red Team_."

"Hey Sarge, I'm getting something on our long range radios." Simmons tried to tune into the signal better.

"_Red Team, come in, this is Washington."_

"Dammit!" Sarge groused "They're probably calling to gloat that they're over at our base touching our equipment, infecting it with their malignant Blue presence."

"We read you Agent Washington." Simmons replied over the radio.

"_Yeah, we tried to get you at your Red Base, but no one answered. Bet you're wondering why we're not back yet?"_

"Uhh…yeah….of course" Simmons stammered "….we've been over at your base. Stealing your stuff and uh…"

"_Yeah, look I don't really have time for this. I kind of need to talk to Sarge, privately."_

"Listen _Agent _Washington," Sarge barked "We may have helped you take down that Meta fella, but don't think we're now all chummy-chummy, I haven't forgotten what you really are…

"_Look if this is about Donut and Lop_—"

"You're a dirty Blue!" Sarge accused, "And not just any kind of Blue: a dirty, _Freelancer, _Blue. The worst possible kind! So whatever you need to say to me, you can say in front of my men."

"_Private Grif is pregnant and you're the father_."

"What?" Grif yelped from the ground.

Sarge froze completely, from helmet to boots, for an entire second. "What's that now?"

"Before I pass out again." Grif moaned, "Just wanted to add. No. Fuckin'. Way."

"Sarge?" Simmons asked. But his commander didn't reply.

"_Sarge?_" Washington sounded concerned. Sarge looked around him peering up to the tops of the walls.

"Is this one of those candid camera things?" He asked, scrutinizing his teammates.

"_Okay. Maybe I needed to be a little more specific. Are you sitting down?_"


	4. Refuge in Audacity

Under the shelter of the shade plane, things were getting tense. Caboose had gotten his foot stuck in his mouth again. Luckily for him, _this _time it was metaphorically. And now he was terrified. "Sister," he said, "I am very sorry for calling you fat."

"Damn right you are." She snapped, arms crossed above her belly.

"It's not my fault that some people," he turned toward a lounging cyan comrade and grumbled, "People like _Tucker_, don't tell some people important things, like that being pregnant makes you fat." he paused "And angry." he looked down "And barefoot."

"Uh, huh." She said, and Caboose could still feel her glaring.

"And scary." he added. "I guess, I mean, Tucker didn't get fat… he just ate all our food, and yelled at us, and then threw up." Caboose gazed at the ocean, remembering. "That _was_ pretty scary."

Sister's relaxed. "Oh…well I was doing that like…five months ago. But I'm mostly over it now." She paused. "I mean the throwing up part."

"Yeah." Caboose leaned in, encouraged by the spirit of conversation. "So, where is your sword?"

"What?" Sister asked.

"Yeah. Is it really shiny? Do you let other people touch it?" Caboose was getting excited. "Or do you keep it all too yourself? Like _some_ people."

"Uhhh…"

"People like _Tucker_." Caboose hissed. "Oh, and did your alien die too? Our alien died!"

"Uhh… Is Sergeant an alien?" Sister seemed nervous.

"Also, do you have any orange juice? I need to start drinking orange juice right away."

"Naw. They wouldn't give me any orange juice," Sister replied, "Or rubbing alcohol. Lame."

Caboose spotted Washington walking toward the crashed Albatross. The Blue ran toward his teammate, looking for all the world like an excited puppy running to his master. If the puppy had an assault rifle, and brain damage.

"Agent Washington! You're back!" Caboose stopped right in front of him, radiating intensity. "Good. I need your orange juice."

Washington sighed. "Why do you need orange juice?"

Caboose scoffed at the question. "Well _duh_, so I can feed the baby!"

"What?"

"Yes. I am very good at feeding babies. But I need lots or orange juice first." Caboose explained. "Or I fall down."

Washington looked from Sister to Caboose, making a mental note that it was dangerous to let them have unsupervised conversations. "Okay. First. I don't have any orange juice. Second, I don't think that babies like to drink orange…"

"Not for the baby! For me." Caboose spoke slowly, so that Washington would understand. "Orange juice turns into blood, and babies love blood, and I have blood, and I hate babies." He waited for a response. "Don't you see?"

Washington stared. "No. No I don't think I do."

"Well, I know these things." Caboose huffed, "I have a lot of experience with babies."

Sister whispered to Tucker. "Hey, shouldn't you tell Abbot about your alien dog kid? I think he's getting confused."

Tucker rocked back on his heels so he could take in the conversation. "I think they both are. This is freakin' hilarious."

"Look." With one snapped word Washington dismissed previous minute of his life. "We need to get off this island. The Hornet is probably whale chow by now, but I don't really trust the teleporters for Private Grif in her condition, not if Omega and Wyoming were using this fort. I'm going to see what I can do to get the dropship on the beach functional." he looked at Sister. "You said Lopez and Doc left some supplies at the fort?"

"Yeah." Sister shrugged. "Like, a dozen crates of supplies, and not one nail file in the whole damn thing."

"Right." Washington turned to walk in the direction of the fort. "It's probably hoping for to much that there will be tools in those crates."

"Wait! Church!" Caboose called after him.

Washington sighed. "I'm not Church."

"Washingchurch!" Caboose amended. "I want to help."

"No." Washington was firm. "You stay here with Sister. Talk to _her_ about your crazy vampire babies." Caboose shuffled back to the Albatross, crestfallen. But before Washington could get much further, a different mentally challenge teammate stopped him.

"Heya Wait!" Sister trotted over to him surprisingly fast for how unwieldy she looked. She glanced back to Tucker and Caboose, then turned to Washington and asked in a low voice, "Uh new guy, did you talk to Sergeant? And my brother?"

"Yes. I did."

"And, uh, how did they take it?" She asked, nervously.

"Oh, about as well as I expected." he answered before he walked away. Sister watched him leave, pondering to herself.

"I know I know him from somewhere…" she murmured.

X X X

Three soldiers stood around the wrecked and ruined remains of several broken vehicles, staring at each other in a complete loss for words. Finally, Simmons cocked his head from one side, where a mute and unmoving Sarge was standing, to the other, where a Grif, swaying slightly, was silent.

"Soo…" He started hesitantly, but the word trailed off back into the silence, where only the chirping of birds and that faint moaning from the other side of the wall, could be heard.

"Um…that's pretty crazy…what that Washington guy said. Heh." Simmons laughed. "I mean at first I was really scared because I almost thought he meant—" Both Grif and Sarge slowly turned their heads to stare at their teammate. "Heh."

In the silence they could faintly hear a voice coming up the hill from the direction of Valhalla, "Owwwwwwwie."

"But you know. Nice to hear that your Sister isn't dead. Right Grif?" Simmons waited expectantly for an answer.

Simmons coughed. "And uh, hey Sarge… congratulations! For… you know… getting Grif's sister pregnant."

"Bullshit." Grif finally barked. "Bull. Shit."

"Oh thank God!" Simmons gasped at the finally broken silence.

"For once I agree completely and totally with Grif." Sarge said, springing back to life, "Without reservation. That dang Blue was talking a load on nonsense."

"Exactly." Grif agreed.

"But. He said your sister is alive." Simmons reminded them.

"Oh that I would believe." Grif replied, "And pregnant, sure! For her that's like a byproduct of being alive. But never, in a million years, did Sarge knock her up."

Sarge nodded. "That would be an impossibility. Grif's sister is a Blue. And a Grif."

Grif sounded almost elated. "Yeah, and we all know how much Sarge hates Blues, and Grifs. No way in a hundred thousand years he got her pregnant."

"Glad we finally found something to agree upon Private." Sarge barked.

"Thank you Sarge," Grif said, "For once I can say, without a hint of sarcasm, that it is a pleasure."

Simmons decided that it might be dangerous to press his teammates on the issue. "Okay, willful denial aside, what are we going to do about Agent Washington's message?"

Sarge answered without a second thought. "Well, we go meet him of course! Obviously this is some nefarious Blue Plot."

"Don't forget he was a freelancer too, sir!" Grif chimed in, "We _never _should trust them!"

"So we go and walk right into his trap, and spring it! Using our superior knowledge of human biology to thwart whatever kind of twisted blackmail he has planned."

Simmons looked up the hill. "And we're walking there?"

Sarge gazed mournfully at the broken vehicles. "Yes." He sighed. "So let's start hoofing it."

"Oh! Oh! Sarge!" Grif said, as the team made their way through the trees, "I just thought of something. Once we find the Blues! We can take _their_ vehicle."

"Good thinking Private! You're really on a roll today."

The team was nothing more than fait voices and warm colored dots in the distace when a plaintive wail wafted over the wall, coming from the Direction of Valhalla. "Ow….Sarge….is that you?….so much…red…"

X X X

For once, things were going more in Washington's favor. He had managed break into the cockpit of the Albatross dropship, and a quick diagnostic had reported the ship in far better shape than Washington had dared to hope. It hadn't really even crashed, just landed a bit unconventionally. Now Washington was attempting to pry the access panels off one of the propulsion systems to do a quick realignment.

He should be happy. Heck, given how he had just lucked out with the ship he should be ecstatic. Unfortunately for the newly recruited Blue, this wasn't the case. Because as good as things were going, he still had to deal with morons.

"_I mean I can't believe you left me behind?_" The voice on Washington's radio was whining in a self-satisfied way. Washington was grateful that the speaker was hundreds of miles away, because he had long ago reached his quota for rage kills.

"Listen Doc," he focused on keeping calm. "How many times to do I have to tell you 'I'm sorry'?"

"_After everything I did for you."_

"I'm _sorry_. That's ten apologies in two minutes, so back on subject. Since we've found you and Lopez's little secret side project, we're taking her back to our base. We need you to meet us back at Valhalla. Can you get there?"

Washington heard a sigh on the other end. "_Yeah. Okay. Have you told the Reds_?"

"Yes, they're meeting us at the Power Station."

"_You mean O'Malley's old fortress_?"

Washington gritted his teeth. "Zanzibar, the beach, whatever. They're the ones who suggested it. Something about familiar neutral territory, but I think they're just trying to bum a ride back to base."

"_Wash, whatever you do, make sure Sister brings along the test results. Lopez seemed to think those were very important_."

"Sure." Washington had managed to realign some thrusters, but didn't want any more annoying conversation to distract him. "Look, I gotta let you go, see you at Valhalla."

"_Okay, and Wash_?"

"Yeah?" He reached down to the pile of scrounged tools for a wrench and spanner.

"_One more 'I'm sorry'_?"

"Doc." Washington growled, but he'd already learned that the medic had the fearlessness only profound stupidity could bestow.

"_Come on, just one more_."

"Okay." Washington's voice was flat." I'm sorry." There was pure hatred dripping from every syllable.

"_Yes, never going to get old_."

Washington sighed, wishing that there was some way to hang up a radio with more force and disgust than the simple click of powering off. He surveyed his work on the propulsion system, then leaned down next to the jet vent and reached into the toolkit. Tucker wandered over and surveyed the work critically. After ten minutes of watching tightening bolts and twisting nuts and not offering to help, Washington turned to face him.

"You gonna help me, or are you just going to stand there?"

"Help you?" Tucker scoffed. "Are you kidding? _Caboose_ has more experience with this kind of crap than I do. His girlfriend _was_ a spaceship for a while."

Washington sighed and turned back to his work. "So why don't you go bother Sister? Your desire to hit on her was whole reason we had to come on this wild goose chase."

Tucker slipped into conversation easily, like he was used to talking at length to people who hated him about things they didn't care about. "Look. I admit. Pregnant or not, I was kinda still planning on hitting on her. You know? Cause she's still hot. In that round, earth mother kinda way. You know what I mean?"

"Please shut up."

"But she's knocked up with _Sarge's_ kid." Tucker said, "I can't have sex with that. It'd be like…I don't know…like Sarge was watching us."

"Tucker. Shut up." Washinton had stood, but was frozen facing the ship.

"Actually, you know what, fuck it. I don't care if Sarge's little bastard is watching us, it might actually be kind of—"

Washington turned around, and walked right up to Tucker's face. "Look. Private Tucker. We've really only just met, so you might not know me very well…"

Tucker laughed. "You're joking? Caboose can't shut up about you! He told me all…"

Washington continued, his voice steady, low, and pressing the edge between calm, and rage. "But if we're going to be teammates, I think it's important that we set some ground rules."

"I don't know man. Rules? I'm a born rebel."

"Okay, how about we just compromise? You stop telling me disgusting things that I don't want to hear, and I won't suffer a psychotic break and kill you."

There was a pause. And Tucker was actually quiet for a blissful minute. "You know." He said, slowly, "Caboose told me that you were scary. I didn't really see it, until right now."

"Now that we've got that settled." Wash turned back to his work. Tucker still stood watching, too bored to leave the deadly, and on edge, wanted criminal alone. He fiddled with his sword, listening to the clicking of the wrench and the sound of the waves.

"You really think you're gonna be able to fix this thing?" He asked.

"No. I think I just _finished _fixing it." Washington turned back to Tucker, and then nodded toward the crates piled up on the shore. "You start loading Sister's things onto the ship. I'll find Caboose. Sooner we get off this island the better." The cobalt and yellow soldier shouldered his battle rifle and paced deliberately toward the fortress.

Tucker watched him go. "Man," he mumbled. "And I thought Church was a douche."

XXX

After checking the fortress, and combing the beach, Washington finally found Caboose crouched in the dirt near in the fortress, staring fixedly at a spot on the ground.

"Caboose!" He called, "We're ready to head out!"

Caboose was too intent on the thing on the ground to pay attention. Washington came up right beside him. "Caboose! We're leaving!" he barked.

"Church."

"I'm not Church." Washington corrected robotically.

"New Church, do you know what booty looks like?"

Washington was suddenly wary. "Uh, Caboose? What did you find?" Caboose just stood up and handed Washington something small and square. Washington looked down at the object in his hand.

"Is _that_ booty?"

It was a lighter. The metal box, butane kind, refillable. Washington scraped away some of the char from the side revealing circular red logo and the word Errera. He didn't know the whole story behind this lighter, why it had been important to the people who had traded it back and forth, but he had seen in before, and he knew who it had belonged to.

"No Caboose it's a lighter." Washington was frozen looking at the broken debris in his hand.

"Oh." Caboose waited, watching, but Washington seemed lost in his thoughts. "Are lighters sad?"

"Not usually."

Somewhere in his head a few thoughts managed to connect almost correctly. "Is _this_ lighter sad?" Caboose asked, in way that he thought was subtle.

"It belonged to an old friend of mine."

"You have friends?!" Caboose exclaimed.

"He's dead."

"Oh." Caboose leaned in conspiratorially, "Did _you_ kill him? If you did you can tell me. I know all about what happens when you accidently kill your friends and it's no one's fault."

"No. I didn't kill him. Wyoming killed him, here. I just…" Washington trailed off, visor downcast, looking at the object in his hands, Carolina's lighter...York's lighter. "I just remotely detonated his armor, with his body still in it." He finished sheepishly, "Remember, um… like Agent South Dakota?"

"Oh." Caboose tilted his head, thoughtfully. Well maybe not thought-_full_-y, Washington decided. Kinda thoughty, though "That's too bad…I'm sure you were really, really, sad when you had to make your dead friend explode."

"No. I wasn't," Washinton replied, and there _was _a hint of sadness in his voice behind the flat affect. "I guess, back then, I didn't think that I had time to be."

"Oh. Well, plenty of time now!" Caboose reassured.

"Great." Washington mumbled.

X X X


	5. All in the Family

The Red Team trudged through the rocky, sun-bleached landscape dotted with the remains of a fort. Whatever the base had been here for, it had long ago been abandoned, as the huge holes blasted into the bunkers and defense walls attested. The sight of military structures had momentarily lifted their spirits, but they'd found neither Warthogs nor Pumas, not even a Chupathingy. And now, heavy hearted and empty stomached, they continued on their way to the power station.

Simmons walked beside his CO. "Listen, Sarge."

"Yes Private Simmons."

"Do you have a minute to talk?"

"A minute? Sure!"

Simmons dropped his voice. "I really don't want to pry into your private matters, but..."

"I allot to each of my soldiers exactly five minutes of awkward conversation a year!"

Simmons had long ago learned to keep his train of thought going, no matter how his teammates tried to derail it. "Okay. I'm just saying, I just realize that you were alone in that canyon for a long time..."

"Alone? I had Lopez with me."

"Yes I know I'm just wondering if after-

Sarge was lost in a recollection. "Of course _he _used up his five minutes almost instantly. Lot of awkward silences after that. "

Simmons started his thought again. "Look, you and Sister were alone for a long time in Blood Gulch. I just wanted to make sure that you…"

Sarge stopped dead in his tracks. "Simmons! Are you accusing a superior officer of fraternizing with the enemy?"

Simmons stammered. "Uh yes?...no…I mean maybe?"

"Simmons, I thought you were a man of science," Sarge shook his head at his right hand man's stupidity. "Think logically. She's a Blue; I'm a Red. She was on one side of the canyon; I was on the other. So how on God's Red earth could I have gotten her pregnant?" That settled, Sarge marched on.

"Excellent point, sir." Simmons sighed, "Where's Grif?" He turned to look behind him. After a minute of waiting an orange figure crested a hill a good fifty meters behind, panting and muttering. Simmons started back to Grif.

"By the way." Sarge called after him, "You only have two minutes, thirty six seconds of awkward conversation left."

Grif was huffing and puffing by the time Simmons had backtracked to him. The maroon soldier watched his teammate staggering along before falling into step behind him.

"Seriously?" Simmons said, "We're just _walking_."

"If you walked..._huff_...all the way back here..._pant_...just to bitch at me..."

"Oh shut up. I wanted to talk to you about Sarge."

"Isn't it enough that I have to live with him? Now _we _have to talk about him too? Doesn't he ruin enough hours of my day when _he's_ talking to me?"

Simmons ignored Grif's complaint. "I'd like to think to think I know Sarge pretty well by now."

Grif snorted. "Yeah, that's what happens when you spend every waking moment of your life kissing someone's ass...you get to know them..."

"And I'm not sure that he would even _know _if he had slept with your Sister. Not if she was out of her armor, or..."

Stopping where he was, Grif stared down his teammate. "What are you trying to say?"

"What I'm trying to say is, I know Sarge... and I can't say that there's no way he slept with your sister. Since you know your sister..."

"Debatable." Grif protested.

"Can _you _say that there's no way she slept with Sarge?"

Grif was firm, confident. "Yes. I can say it. There's no way she slept with Sarge. Because if she had, I'm pretty sure that we'd know.

"How?"

"Boiling oceans, the moon turning to blood, Donut hosting the Icecapades in Hell. The fabric of the universe collapsing in on itself. Trust me, It would be pretty obvious." That settled Grif continued on, leaving poor Simmons watching his two teammates marching to the tune of denial.

Simmons sighed. "Well I'm O for two on reasonable discussions today."

X

The Albatross drop ship had handled like its namesake; unwieldy, clumsy, hard to take off, hard to land, and really only capable of coasting across the ocean. It wasn't until they were safely on the beaches of Zanzibar, and he had pulled his strained and sore hands from the controls that he'd been clutching, that Washington finally stopped praying under his breath. He reminded himself that he wasn't the religious type, negating the deals he'd promised with deities, demons and celebrities over the course of the fight. Sliding down from the Cockpit he made his way to the cargo section, where the rest of the freak parade was riding. He lowered the main hatches, exposing the cargo bay.

"Okay. We're here." His teammates weren't listening. Caboose and Sister were staring at Tucker, who had one hand up to his ear and was pacing the bulkhead.

"Listen you stupid blarg, I don't give a honk what time it is there, you put him on."

Washington gestured to Tucker. "Who is he talking to?"

"His dog." Sister answered.

"Actually it's his dog's uncle." Caboose corrected. "I mean his kid. I mean his dog-kid...'s uncle."

Tucker was in full on gripe mode. "Yeah, I know I missed last week. I was kinda honking busy. Ya blarg me? Saving the whole honk-damn universe. Again."

"Is he talking to an alien?" Washington asked.

Caboose nodded. "Yes. Uncle Alien has been taking care of Tucker's baby while Tucker was in the desert. Tucker sends Uncle money. And, they hate each other." Caboose sighed wistfully. "It's the ideal relationship."

Tucker whispered over to his team. "Hey, can you guys keep it down? I'm kinda on the phone here?" Then his voice took a different tone, and he was obviously talking on to whoever was on the other end. "Heya champ! How's daddy's little ankle biter? Uh huh….really…."

Washington motioned Sister and Caboose out of the back of the ship and onto the beach. "You know. I would ask for an explanation….but-"

Caboose ignored the 'but', in favor of giving an explanation. "Tucker was impregnated by an alien on a quest to free his entire race using a sword key to open the garage for a spaceship. I was there. It was really fun. But then he died. The Alien I mean. Have you ever met an Alien?

"Yes." Washington had actually met several aliens. Not that long ago. At a desert temple.

"We're they friendly? But not _too _friendly..."

"Um. No." They hadn't exactly been hostile either. But they had been annoying. And insulting. And Washington had been in a particularly bad mood. And now the Aliens were dead.

"Well, Then Uncle Alien came and woke up the Daisy man." Caboose was continuing his story. "And then he got Junior and the key-sword and they all flew away in Shelia. And then Tucker flew away to find them and looked for them and found them. And now they go around finding shapes that the other aliens worship. And Junior is going to be their savior. Like space Jesus."

Washington took a moment to process the details, and carefully filtered out likely facts from complete insanity. "Wow…I think I actually understood, almost half of that." He turned to Sister. "What about you?"

She was fiddling with her superfluous pistol and watching the ocean. "Uhhhh..."

"You were there!" Caboose said.

"Yeah, but I _was _pretty stoned."

"Yeah." Washington couldn't tell if Caboose was agreeing with Sister, or had retreated back to his own world. "I think it would make a good movie. You know, if Tucker wasn't in it. " He turned to Washington. " Maybe you could play Tucker."

Tucker's voice took a shrill turn, breaking into their conversation. "He did what? Oh you put that honky bastard on right now! Uhhuh, see you soon. Daddy loves you and all that blarg, now hand him the phone. Yeah? You there? ...Listen you blarging asshole. We talked about this 'savior of our race' bullshit... I don't care, you're not raising my kid to be some religious nutjob. ...You keep feeding him that blarg and I'll come over there and shove your honk so far up your blarghole you'll be honking your blarg every time you honk honk. Got it?" The entire group could hear a honk on the other end, and judging from Tucker's response it seemed to be a grudging, and foul mouthed, assent. Radio conversation over, Tucker finally exited the ship.

"Sorry about that guys. Family stuff."

Caboose looked at the sea wall, the top of the windmill and the roofs of the outbuildings visible above the stone ruins. "Do you think we beat them here?"

Washington started to the wall, "We won't know until we check the facility." he said. Tucker followed him up the stairs, but Caboose and Sister hung back on the beach.

"Whew, that was one bumpy plane ride." Sister said.

"Yeah."

"Sorry about that whole...helmet thing. There weren't any barf bags and..."

"Yeah."

"You know...you could have washed the helmet out, before you put it back on."

Caboose thought about it. "Yeah."

XXXXX

It turned out that the Blues _hadn't _beaten the Reds to the rendezvous. They found the three bickering and road-weary soldiers resting inside the power station's generator room. They seemed to be deep in discussion about 'blackmail', but clammed up the when they noticed Blues had arrived with Grif's Sister in tow.

For one second, so brief that only Simmons saw it, Grif was all relief and joy. For the first time Simmons suspected that beneath Grif's loud denials of his sister's demise was a nervous doubt he hadn't let himself feel until this very moment. Grif actually ran to meet his sibling.

"Sis!"

"Grif!" Sister squealed and wrapped her brother in a hug. And then Grif brushed her off.

"Okay. Enough with the sappy sappy. Why the fuck didn't you call me?"

"I didn't have your number."

"Lame excuse."

"Well why didn't you call me?" Sister asked.

"We thought you were dead." Simmons edged in, now that the reunion seemed resolved.

"Well I _wasn't_."

Grif snorted. "Obviously. And what the hell is up with this?" He gestured to her pregnant belly. "Did you lose your punchcard again?'

"Naw, I found it. Then that Mexican took it."

"Really, why?" Simmons asked.

"Well it wasn't to use it himself." Grif said.

"Then they kept moving me around, and having that Doc guy run tests. It got really annoying. I was stuck on that stupid island for months." Sister complained. "And they didn't even have cable."

"Lopez put you there?" Simmons was trying to puzzle out the chain of events.

"Yeah, he would come by every week. He was always radioing me, asking me dumb questions. 'Am I eating?' 'Am I sleeping?' 'Do I know that Doritos aren't vegetables?'"

Caboose whispered to Washington. "I remember that test."

"Caboose!" Washington hushed him.

"I got a C."

"Why was he doing that?" Simmons asked Sister.

Sister turned to where Sarge was standing by the stairs to the upper level, away from the group. He was silent, unreadable. "Umm…for _you_, I think." There was an awkward silence. "Hi Sergeant." She said, shyly.

"Hmpf." He muttered.

"Lopez thought _Sarge _got you pregnant?" Grif laughed. "Fuck that."

"Um. How long have you been... you know?" Simmons gestured to her stomach, nervously.

"Like eight months, I think."

"That's your longest streak ever!" Grif said.

"I know!"

A shrill edge in Simmons voice hinted at anxiety. "Wait is that like, eight months that you've known you were pregnant, or eight months pregnant?"

Sister's brain couldn't process the question. "What?"

Simmons slipped into full- on panic. "Fuck! You mean, that you could have this baby any day? Right now? Right here?"

Grif sighed. "Don't be stupid, Simmons, my sister's not having a _baby._ She's just pregnant. Trust me, she does this all the time, totally diff—" Simmons grabbed Grif's hand and put it on his sister's belly. Grif froze and then yelped. "Holy shit! The little bastard kicked me!"

Tucker whispered to Washington. "Signs of things to come?"

Grif stared at his pregnant sister like he was seeing her for the first time. "Holy shit!" He gasped, "There's a baby in there!"

"Yeah I know." Sister said.

"Like a real baby!"

"Yeah. I know." Sister said.

Grif paused, as he slowly understood. "Holy shit! _You're_ going to have a baby!"

"Yeah." Sister said, "I _know_."

Grif glanced around at his teammates then sidled next to his sister, and mumbled in a low voice. "Do you…do you have like, a buyer lined up? Some kind of E-Baby listing to get rid of it?"

"What?" Sister said, "No. Lopez said I had to keep it."

"Well, then…" Grif trailed off thinking. Finally. "What the fuck?"

"What do you mean?" Sister asked.

"What the hell are you…Have you thought this through at _all_?"

"Uhhh….."

"Un-Fucking-Believable." Grif was getting louder. "So you don't have like, any idea, what you're going to do with it?"

"Why are you yelling at me?" Sister whined.

"You're doing this just to spite me, aren't you? This isn't like the time you replaced my meds with LSD, Sis. This is _serious_. "

"Hey, Grif, take it easy." Washington tried to cut in; but he was ignored.

"Now you just expect me to take care of everything, like you always have." Grif raged, "I swear, it's just like we're still fuckin' kids." He mimicked in a singsong voice, "I'm hungry, Grif! Mom locked me out again, Grif! The sign at the Wal-Mart didn't say 'no pants no service', so what's the cop so pissed about, Grif!"

Sister was looking down, frozen.

"Grif. Really." Washington warned.

"Why do I always have to take care of your problems?" Grif asked her.

"Hey, asshole!" Sister shrieked right in his face, her helmet nearly knocking against his. "If you always did such a good job taking care of me, why'd you leave me all alone in that canyon for a year? Huh?" She sounded tearful now, "You always yell at me! And you always leave me behind! And you don't understand!" She ran from the room sobbing in her helmet. The six men stared after her in silence.

"Great job there Grif." Washington said, "I can see you're just full of brotherly wisdom."

"Eh," Tucker shrugged, "It's probably just the hormones talking. Trust me."

Washington turned to the Red Leader. "Sarge, you've been remarkably quiet through this."

"It's none of my business."

"None of your business?" Washington said, "You're the father."

Sarge grunted. "Hmpf, likely story…_Blue_."

"You are! I told you so!"

"Right, well I for one want a paternity test." Grif said.

Washington pulled out a datapad. "Right here. Lopez had Doc put together a whole medical file." He handed it to Grif. Sarge approached to peer over Grif's shoulder.

"Still don't believe it." Grif protested.

Washington clicked on an attachment on the screen. "Amniocentesis."

"Nope."

"Choronic Villis sampling."

"Nope."

"The complete sequenced genome of Sarge, Sister, _and _the fetus."

Grif remained unconvinced. "Look, that Doc guy, he's a moron"

"Signed affidavit of three UNSC forensic scientists verifying the results."

"Still…"

"Signed in blood."

Grif handed the datapad to Sarge so he could wag a finger at Washington. "Look. I don't care how many stupid test they ran. Sarge _didn't _get my sister pregnant."

Sarge nodded. "Right."

"Because Sarge _didn't _have sex with my sister."

"SAhhhhuhuh.." Sarge was overtaken with a fit of coughing. Everyone turned to stare at him.

"Sarge." Simmons asked, tentatively. "You…you had sex with Grif's sister?"

Sarge fiddled with the datapad, embarrassed. "Ahuhhhh. Listen, I said that I couldn't have gotten her pregnant."

"Right." There was an edge of desperation in Grif's voice. "Because you didn't have sex with her.'

"No, because she's a Blue! Blues and Reds can't interbreed! They're separate distinct species; different genus on the Taxowhatnit tree. It would be like bears and wolves, or tiger and lions. Goes against nature." The group continued to stare at Sarge.

"Lions and tigers _can _crossbreed." Simmons said, "It's called a liger."

Sarge glared through is visor at Simmons. "You're makin' that up."

Grif was patently desperate now. "Sarge. Look, I've never asked you for anything before in my life."

Simmons snorted. "What are you talking about? You've asked him for..."

"Anything that I actually thought you would _do_. But I need you to tell me one thing. Tell me the truth. Tell me you did not sleep with my sister."

Sarge was dead quiet. Looking down at the datapad of paternity information.

"You fucked my sister!" Grif shrieked.

"Private Grif, calm down!" Washington stepped between them.

"Don't tell me to calm down! What do you know about it? You're new here!"

Tucker sighed. "Okay, let's be fair here. Raise your hand if you haven't fucked Grif's sister."

Washington backed away from the group. "You know what? You're right…I don't think I want to be a part of this conversation." He walked out of the building. Quickly.

Tucker looked around the remaining men. "Show of hands, anyone?"

"Tucker, I'm going to kill you." Grif's voice was ice and daggers.

"Really? You're _surprised_? Your sister's hot, and I'm cool. We're _opposites_. And you know what they say: 'Opposites Fuck.'"

Grif turned to the maroon teammate at his side. The one who _also_ had not raised his hand. "Simmons?"

Simmons coughed. "She's a really nice girl." He squeaked.

Grif was outraged. "Simmons!"

"What?" He snapped "What the hell do you want from me? We'd been stuck in that canyon for like, three years. Any longer and I would have fucked my own sister."

The Tucker, Simmons, Grif, and Sarge all turned to look at the last person who hadn't raised his hands. He was staring in the direction Washington had gone. He almost looked lost in thought.

"Wait….Caboose?" In his shock Grif had lost his outrage.

"Hmmm." Caboose said softly "I think I see someone outside."

From outside there was a shrill scream, then the sound of beam rifles and plasma pistols firing all at once.


End file.
